Part 10

“Pray, ma'am, have you heard anything of a novel that runs about a good deal, called 'Evelina'?”

What a ferment did this question, before such a set, put me in! I did not know whether he spoke to me, or Mrs. Thrale, and Mrs. Thrale was in the same doubt, and as she owned, felt herself in a little palpitation for me, not knowing what might come next, Between us both, therefore, he had no answer.

“It has been recommended to me,” continued he; “but I have no great desire to see it, because it has such a foolish name. Yet I have heard a great deal of it, too.”

He then repeated “Evelina”--in a very languishing and ridiculous tone.

My heart beat so quick against my stays that I almost panted with extreme agitation, from the dread either of hearing some horrible criticism, or of being betrayed: and I munched my biscuit as if I had not eaten for a fortnight.

I believe the whole party were in some little consternation Dr. Johnson began see-sawing; Mr. Thrale awoke; Mr. E---- who I fear has picked up some notion of the affair from being so much in the house, grinned amazingly; and Mr. Seward, biting his nails and flinging himself back in his chair, I am sure had wickedness enough to enjoy the whole scene.

Mrs. Thrale was really a little fluttered, but without looking at me, said, “And pray what, Mr. Lort, what have you heard of it?”

“Why they say,” answered he, “that it's an account of a young lady's first entrance into company, and of the scrapes she gets into; and they say there's a great deal of character in it, but I have not cared to look in it, because the name is so foolish--'Evelina'!”

“Why foolish, sir?” cried Dr. Johnson. “Where's the folly of it?”

“Why, I won't say much for the name myself,” said Mrs. Thrale, “to those who don't know the reason of it, which I found out, but which nobody else seems to know.” She then explained the name from Evelyn, according to my own meaning.

“Well,” said Dr. Johnson, “if that was the reason, it is a very good one.”

“Why, have you had the book here?” cried Mr. Lort, staring.

“Ay, indeed, have we,” said Mrs. Thrale; “I read it when I was last confined, and I laughed over it, and I cried over it!”

“O ho!” said Mr. Lort, “this is another thing! If you have had it here, I will certainly read it.”

“Had it? ay,” returned she; “and Dr. Johnson, who would not look at it at first, was so caught by it when I put it in the coach with him, that he has sung its praises ever since,--and he says Richardson would have been proud to have written it.”

“O ho! this is a good hearing,” cried Mr. Lort; “if Dr. Johnson can read it, I shall get it with all speed.”

“You need not go far for it,” said Mrs. Thrale, “for it's now upon yonder table.”

I could sit still no longer; there was something so awkward, so uncommon, so strange in my then situation, that I wished myself a hundred miles off, and indeed, I had almost choked myself with the biscuit, for I could not for my life swallow it: and so I got up, and, as Mr. Lort went to the table to look for “Evelina,” I left the room, and was forced to call for water to wash down the biscuit, which literally stuck in my throat.

I heartily wished Mr. Lort at Jerusalem. I did not much like going back, but the moment I recovered breath, I resolved not to make bad worse by staying longer away: but at the door of the room, I met Mrs. Thrale, who, asking me if I would have some water, took me into a back room, and burst into a hearty fit of laughter.

“This is very good sport,” cried she; “the man is as innocent about the matter as a child, and we shall hear what he says about it to-morrow morning at breakfast. I made a sign to Dr. Johnson and Seward not to tell him.”

She found I was not in a humour to think it such good sport as she did, she grew more serious, and taking my hand kindly said, “May you never, Miss Burney, know any other pain than that of hearing yourself praised! and I am sure that you must often feel.”

When I told her how much I dreaded being discovered, and begged her not to betray me any further, she again began laughing, and openly declared she should not consult me about the matter. But she told me that, as soon as I had left the room, when Mr. Lort took up “Evelina,” he exclaimed contemptuously “Why, it's printed for Lowndes!” and that Dr. Johnson then told him there were things and characters in it more than worthy of Fielding. “Oh ho!” cried Mr. Lort; “what, is it better than Fielding?” “Harry Fielding,” answered Dr. Johnson, “knew nothing but the shell of life.”

“So you, ma'am,” added the flattering Mrs. Thrale, “have found the kernel.”

Are they all mad? or do they only want to make me so

CURIOSITY REGARDING THE AUTHOR OF “EVELINA.”

_Streatham, Sept._--Our Monday's intended great party was very small, for people are so dispersed at present in various quarters: we had, therefore, only Sir Joshua Reynolds, two Miss Palmers, Dr. Calvert, Mr. Rose Fuller, and Lady Ladd.[58] Dr. Johnson did not return.

Sir Joshua I am much pleased with: I like his countenance, and I like his manners; the former I think expressive, and sensible; the latter gentle, unassuming, and engaging.

The dinner, in quantity as well as quality, would have sufficed for forty people. Sir Joshua said, when the dessert appeared, “Now if all the company should take a fancy to the same dish, there would be sufficient for all the company from any one.”

After dinner, as usual, we strolled out: I ran first into the hall for my cloak, and Mrs. Thrale, running after me, said in a low voice,

“If you are taxed with 'Evelina,' don't own it; I intend to say it is mine, for sport's sake.”

You may think how much I was surprised, and how readily I agreed not to own it; but I could ask no questions, for the two Miss Palmers followed close, saying,

“Now pray, ma'am, tell us who it is?”

“No, no,” cried Mrs. Thrale, “who it is, you must find out. I have told you that you dined with the author; but the rest you must make out as you can.”

Miss Thrale began tittering violently, but I entreated her not to betray me; and, as soon as I could, I got Mrs. Thrale to tell me what all this meant. She then acquainted me, that, when she first came into the parlour, she found them all busy in talking of “Evelina,” and heard that Sir Joshua had declared he would give fifty pounds to know the author!

“Well,” said Mrs. Thrale, “thus much, then, I will tell you; the author will dine with you to-day.”

They were then all distracted to know the party.

“Why,” said she, “we shall have Dr. Calvert, Lady Ladd, Rose Fuller, and Miss Burney.”

“Miss Burney?” quoth they, “which Miss Burney?”

“Why, the eldest, Miss Fanny Burney; and so out of this list you must make out the author.”

I shook my head at her, but begged her, at least, to go no further.

“No, no,” cried she, laughing, “leave me alone; the fun will be to make them think it me.”

However, as I learnt at night, when they were gone, Sir Joshua was so very importunate with Mr. Thrale, and attacked him with such eagerness, that he made him confess who it was, as soon as the ladies retired.

Well, to return to our walk. The Miss Palmers grew more and more urgent.

“Did we indeed,” said the eldest, “dine with the author of 'Evelina?'”

“Yes, in good truth did you.”

“Why then, ma'am, it was yourself.”

“I shan't tell you whether it was or not; but were there not other people at dinner besides me? What think you of Dr. Calvert?”

“Dr. Calvert? no! no; I am sure it was not he: besides, they say it was certainly written by a woman.”

“By a woman? nay, then, is not here Lady Ladd, and Miss Burney, and Hester?”[59]

“Lady Ladd I am sure it was not, nor could it be Miss Thrale's. O maam! I begin to think it was really yours! Now, was it not, Mrs. Thrale?”

Mrs. Thrale only laughed.

“A lady of our acquaintance,” said Miss Palmer, “Mrs. Cholmondeley, went herself to the printer, but he would not tell.”

“Would he not?” cried Mrs. Thrale, “why, then, he's an honest man.”

“Oh, is he so?--nay, then, it is certainly Mrs. Thrale's.”

“Well, well, I told you before I should not deny it.”

“Miss Burney,” said she, “pray do you deny it?” in a voice that seemed to say,--I must ask round, though rather from civility than suspicion.

“Me?” cried I, “well no: if nobody else will deny it, why should I? It does not seem the fashion to deny it.”

“No, in truth,” cried she; “I believe nobody would think of denying it that could claim it, for it is the sweetest book in the world. My uncle could not go to bed till he had finished it, and he says he is sure he shall make love to the author, if ever he meets with her, and it should really be a woman!”

“Dear madam,” cried Miss Offy, “I am sure it was you but why will you not own it at once?”

“I shall neither own nor deny anything about it.”

“A gentleman whom we know very well,” said Miss Palmer, “when he could learn nothing at the printer's, took the trouble to go all about Snow Hill, to see if he could find any silversmith's.”

“Well, he was a cunning creature!” said Mrs. Thrale; “but Dr. Johnson's favourite is Mr. Smith.”

“So he is of everybody,” answered she: “he and all that family; everybody says such a family never was drawn before. But Mrs. Cholmondeley's favourite is Madame Duval; she acts her from morning to night, and ma-foi's everybody she sees. But though we all want so much to know the author, both Mrs. Cholmondeley and my uncle himself say they should be frightened to death to be in her company, because she must be such a very nice observer, that there would be no escaping her with safety.”

What strange ideas are taken from mere book-reading! But what follows gave me the highest delight I can feel.

“Mr. Burke,”[60] she continued, “doats on it: he began it one morning at seven o'clock, and could not leave it a moment; he sat up all night reading it. He says he has not seen such a book he can't tell when.”

Mrs. Thrale gave me involuntarily a look of congratulation, and could not forbear exclaiming, “How glad she was Mr. Burke approved it!” This served to confirm the Palmers in their mistake, and they now, without further questioning, quietly and unaffectedly concluded the book to be really Mrs. Thrale's and Miss Palmer said,--“Indeed, ma'am, you ought to write a novel every year: nobody can write like you!”

I was both delighted and diverted at this mistake, and they grew so easy and so satisfied under it, that the conversation dropped, and off we went to the harpsichord.

Not long after, the party broke up, and they took leave. I had no conversation with Sir Joshua all day; but I found myself more an object of attention to him than I wished; and he several times spoke to me, though he did not make love!

When they rose to take leave, Miss Palmer, with the air of asking the greatest of favours, hoped to see me when I returned to town; and Sir Joshua, approaching me with the most profound respect, inquired how long I should remain at Streatham? A week, I believed: and then he hoped, when I left it, they should have the honour of seeing me in Leicester Square.[61]

In short, the joke is, the people speak as if they were afraid of me, instead of my being afraid of them. It seems, when they got to the door, Miss Palmer said to Mrs. Thrale,

“Ma'am, so it's Miss Burney after all!”

“Ay, sure,” answered she, “who should it be?”

“Ah! why did not you tell us sooner?” said Offy, “that we might have had a little talk about it?”

Here, therefore, end all my hopes of secrecy!

THE MEMBERS OF DR. JOHNSON'S HOUSEHOLD.

At tea-time the subject turned upon the domestic economy of Dr. Johnson's household. Mrs. Thrale has often acquainted me that his house is quite filled and overrun with all sorts of strange creatures, whom he admits for mere charity, and because nobody else will admit them,--for his charity is unbounded; or, rather, bounded only by his circumstances.

The account he gave of the adventures and absurdities of the set, was highly diverting, but too diffused for writing--though one or two speeches I must give. I think I shall occasionally theatricalise my dialogues.

Mrs. Thrale--Pray, Sir, how does Mrs. Williams like all this tribe?

Johnson--Madam, she does not like them at all: but their fondness for her is not greater. She and De Mullin[62] quarrel incessantly; but as they can both be occasionally of service to each other, and as neither of them have a place to go to, their animosity does not force them to separate.

Mrs. T.--And pray, sir, what is Mr. Macbean?[63]

Dr. J.--Madam, he is a Scotchman: he is a man of great learning, and for his learning I respect him, and I wish to serve him. He knows many languages, and knows them well; but he knows nothing of life. I advised him to write a geographical dictionary; but I have lost all hopes of his doing anything properly, since I found he gave as much labour to Capua as to Rome.

Mr. T.--And pray who is clerk of your kitchen, sir?

Dr. J.--Why, sir, I am afraid there is none; a general anarchy prevails in my kitchen, as I am told by Mr. Levat,[64] who says it is not now what it used to be!

Mrs. T.--Mr. Levat, I suppose, sir, has the office of keeping the hospital in health? for he is an apothecary.

Dr. J.--Levat, madam, is a brutal fellow, but I have a good regard for him; for his brutality is in his manners, not his mind.

Mr. T.--But how do you get your dinners drest?

Dr. J.--Why De Mullin has the chief management of the kitchen; but our roasting is not magnificent, for we have no jack.

Mr. T.--No jack? Why, how do they manage without?

Dr. J.--Small joints, I believe, they manage with a string, larger are done at the tavern. I have some thoughts (with profound gravity) of buying a jack, because I think a jack is some credit to a house.

Mr. T.--Well, but you'll have a spit, too?

Dr. J.--No, sir, no; that would be superfluous; for we shall never use it; and if a jack is seen, a spit will be presumed!

Mrs. T.--But pray, sir, who is the Poll you talk of? She that you used to abet in her quarrels with Mrs. Williams, and call out, “At her again, Poll! Never flinch, Poll.”[65]

Dr. J.--Why, I took to Poll very well at first, but she won't do upon a nearer examination.

Mrs. T.--How came she among you, sir?

Dr. J.--Why I don't rightly remember, but we could spare her very well from us. Poll is a stupid slut; I had some hopes of her at first; but when I talked to her tightly and closely, I could make nothing of her; she was wiggle waggle, and I could never persuade her to be categorical, I wish Miss Burney would come among us; if she would only give _us_ a week, we should furnish her with ample materials for a new scene in her next work.

ANTICIPATED VISIT FROM MRS. MONTAGU.

[“The great Mrs. Montagu” deserves a somewhat longer notice than can be conveniently compressed within the limits of a footnote. She was as indisputably, in public estimation, the leading literary lady of the time, as Johnson was the leading man of letters. Her maiden name was Elizabeth Robinson. She was born at York in the year 1720, and married, in 1742, Edward Montagu, grandson of the first Earl of Sandwich. Her husband's death, in 1775, left her in the possession of a handsome fortune. Mrs. Montagu's literary celebrity was by no means dearly bought, for it rested, almost exclusively, on her “Essay on the Writings and Genius of Shakespear,” published by Dodsley in 1769. Indeed, the only other writings which she committed to the press were three “Dialogues of the Dead,” appended to the Well-known “Dialogues” of her friend, Lord Lyttelton. The “Essay” is an elegantly written little work, superficial when regarded in the light of modern criticism, but marked by good sense and discrimination. One of the chief objects of the authoress was to defend Shakespeare against the strictures of Voltaire, and in this not very difficult task she has undoubtedly succeeded. Johnson's opinion of the “Essay” was unfavourable. To Sir Joshua Reynolds's remark, that it did honour to its authoress, he replied: “Yes Sir: it does her honour, but it would do nobody else honour;” and he goes on to observe that “there is not one sentence of true criticism in the book.” But if the general applause which the book had excited was out of all proportion to its merits, Johnson's unqualified condemnation was more than equally disproportionate to its defects.

Of Mrs. Montagu's conversational abilities Johnson entertained a higher opinion. “Sir,” he would say, “that lady exerts more mind in conversation than any person I ever met with” (Miss Reynolds's Recollections). It was probably, indeed, to the fame of her conversation, and of the has been parties which assembled at her house, that she owed the greater part of her reputation. She was the acknowledged “Queen of the Blue Stockings” although the epithet originated with a rival giver of literary parties, Mrs. Vesey, who, replying to the apology of a gentleman who declined an invitation to one of her meetings on the plea of want of dress, exclaimed, “Pho, pho! don't mind dress! Come in your blue stockings!” The term “Blue Stocking” (bas bleu) was thenceforward applied to the set which met at Mrs. Vesey's, and was gradually extended to other coteries of similar character.

The charitable and beneficient disposition of Mrs. Montagu was as notorious as her intellectual superiority. It may be interesting here to observe that after her husband's death, in 1775, she doubled the income of poor Anna Williams, the blind poetess who resided with Dr. Johnson, by settling upon her an annuity of ten pounds. The publication of Johnson's “Lives of the Poets,” in 1781, occasioned a coolness between the doctor and Mrs. Montagu, on account of the severity with which, in that work, he had handled the character of Lord Lyttelton. In September, 1783, however, Dr. Johnson wrote to the lady to announce the death of her pensioner, Miss Williams; and shortly afterwards he informs Mrs. Thrale that he has received a reply “not only civil but tender; so I hope peace is proclaimed.” Mrs. Montagu died at her house in Portman Square, in the year 1800.--ED.]

I was looking over the “Life of Cowley,” which Dr. Johnson had himself given me to read, at the same time that he gave to Mrs. Thrale that of Waller. But he bade me put it away.

“Do,” cried he, “put away that now, and prattle with us; I can't make this little Burney prattle, and I am sure she prattles well; but I shall teach her another lesson than to sit thus silent before I have done with her.”

“To talk,” cried I, “is the only lesson I shall be backward to learn from you, sir.”

“You shall give me,” cried he, “a discourse upon the passions: come, begin! Tell us the necessity of regulating them Watching over and curbing them! Did you ever read Norris's “Theory of Love?”[67]

“No, sir,” said I, laughing, yet staring a little.

Dr. J.-It is well worth your reading. He will make you see that inordinate love is the root of all evil, inordinate love of wealth brings on avarice; of wine, brings on intemperance; of power, brings on cruelty; and so on. He deduces from inordinate love all human frailty.”

Mrs. T.-To-morrow, sir, Mrs. Montagu dines here, and then you will have talk enough.

Dr. Johnson began to see-saw, with a countenance strongly expressive of inward fun, and after enjoying it some time in silence, he suddenly, and with great animation, turned to me and cried,

“Down with her, Burney!--down with her!--spare her not!--attack her, fight her, and down with her at once! You are a rising wit, and she is at the top; and when I was beginning the world, and was nothing and nobody, the joy of my life was to fire at all the established wits! and then everybody loved to halloo me on. But there is no game now; every body would be glad to see me conquered: but then, when I was new, to vanquish the great ones was all the delight of my poor little dear soul! So at her, Burney--at her, and down with her!”

Oh, how we were all amused! By the way I must tell you that Mrs. Montagu is in very great estimation here, even with Dr. Johnson himself, when others do not praise her improperly. Mrs. Thrale ranks her as the first of women in the literary way. I should have told you that Miss Gregory, daughter of the Gregory who wrote the “Letters,” or, “Legacy of Advice,” lives with Mrs. Montagu, and was invited to accompany her.[68]

“Mark now,” said Dr. Johnson, “if I contradict her tomorrow. I am determined, let her say what she will, that I will not contradict her.”

Mrs. T.-Why, to be sure, sir, you did put her a little out Of countenance the last time she came. Yet you were neither rough, nor cruel, nor ill-natured, but still, when a lady changes colour, we imagine her feelings are not quite composed.

Dr. J.-Why, madam, I won't answer that I shan't contradict her again, if she provokes me as she did then; but a less provocation I will withstand. I believe I am not high in her good graces already; and I begin, added he, laughing heartily, to tremble for my admission into her new house. I doubt I shall never see the inside of it.

(Mrs. Montagu is building a most superb house.)[69]

Mrs. T.-Oh, I warrant you, she fears you, indeed; but that, you know, is nothing uncommon: and dearly I love to hear your disquisitions; for certainly she is the first woman for literary knowledge in England, and if in England, I hope I may say in the world.

Dr. J.-I believe you may, madam. She diffuses more knowledge in her conversation than any woman I know, or, indeed, almost any man.

Mrs. T.-I declare I know no man equal to her, take away yourself and Burke, for that art. And you who love magnificence, won't quarrel with her, as everybody else does, for her love of finery.

Dr. J.-No, I shall not quarrel with her upon that topic.

FANNY BURNEY'S INTRODUCTION TO A CELEBRATED “BLUE-STOCKING.”